:roflhard: :roflhard:
This is a Mad-Libs styleletter to Santafor grownups only… I don’t think I’m as daring as I used to be, mine was only mildly humorous, but could be pretty funny if your mind bends the right way 
Dogs’ letters to God
Dear God: Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom, if ever, smell one another?
Dear God: When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?
Dear God: Why are there cars named after the jaguar, the cougar, the mustang, the colt, the stingray, and the rabbit, but not ONE named for a dog? How often do you see a cougar riding around? We do love a nice ride! Would it be so hard to rename the “Chrysler Eagle” the " Chrysler Beagle"?
Dear God: If a dog barks his head off in the forest and no human hears him, is he still a bad dog?
Dear God: We dogs can understand human verbal instructions, hand signals, whistles, horns, clickers, beepers, scent ID’s, electromagnetic energy fields, and Frisbee flight paths. What do humans understand?
Dear God: More meatballs, less spaghetti, please.
Dear God: Are there mailmen in Heaven? If there are, will I have to apologize?
Dear God: Let me give you a list of just some of the things I must remember to be a good dog:
-
I will not eat the cats’ food before they eat it or after they throw it up.
-
I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like the way they smell.
-
I will not munch on “leftovers” in the kitty litter box, although they are tasty.
-
The diaper pail is not a cookie jar.
-
The sofa is not a “face towel”. Neither are Mom and Dad’s laps.
-
The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.
-
My head does not belong in the refrigerator.
-
I will not bite the officer’s hand when he reaches in for Mom’s driver’s license and registration.
-
I will not play tug-of-war with Dad’s underwear when he’s on the toilet.
-
Sticking my nose into someone’s crotch is an unacceptable way of saying “hello”.
-
I don’t need to suddenly stand straight up when I’m under the coffee table.
-
I must shake the rainwater out of my fur before entering the house - not after.
-
I will not throw up in the car.
-
I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt.
-
I will not sit in the middle of the living room and lick my crotch when we have company.
-
The cat is not a “squeaky toy” so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it’s usually not a good thing.
And, finally, My last question . . .
Dear God: When I get to Heaven may I have my testicles back?
- The cat is not a “squeaky toy” so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it’s usually not a good thing.
:roflhard: :roflhard: :roflhard:
I like that one… 
- I don’t need to suddenly stand straight up when I’m under the coffee table.
THUNK :roflhard: :roflhard:
:shock:
OMG Kelly! Once again, I’ve scared the cats.
:roflhard: :roflhard: :roflhard:
Here’s another good’un from my Sis!
MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL MOMS.
Dear Santa,
I’ve been a good Mom all year. I’ve fed, cleaned and cuddled my three children on demand, visited the doctor’s office more than my own doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son’s red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I’ll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I’d like a pair of legs that don’t ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don’t hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.
I’d also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you’re hauling big ticket items this year I’d like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn’t broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I canhide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, “Yes, Mommy” to boost my parental confidence, along with three kids who don’t fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting “Don’t eat in the living room” and “Take your hands off your brother,” because my voice seems to be just out of my children’s hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.
If it’s too late to find any of these product’s, I’d settle for enough time to rush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don’t mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.
It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.
Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don’t catch cold.
Help yourself to cookies on the table but don’t eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
PS One more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.
That was awesome…
This is an oldie but goodie. And you don’t have to know anything about Sartre:
We have recently been lucky enough to discover several previously lost diaries of French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre stuck in between the cushions of our office sofa. These diaries reveal a young Sartre obsessed not with the void, but with food. Aparently Sartre, before discovering philosophy, had hoped to write "a cookbook that will put to rest all notions of flavor forever.’’ The diaries are excerpted here for your perusal.
October 3
Spoke with Camus today about my cookbook. Though he has never actually eaten, he gave me much encouragement. I rushed home immediately to begin work. How excited I am! I have begun my formula for a Denver omelet.
October 4
Still working on the omelet. There have been stumbling blocks. I keep creating omelets one after another, like soldiers marching into the sea, but each one seems empty, hollow, like stone. I want to create an omelet that expresses the meaninglessness of existence, and instead they taste like cheese. I look at them on the plate, but they do not look back. Tried eating them with the lights off. It did not help. Malraux suggested paprika.
October 6
I have realized that the traditional omelet form (eggs and cheese) is bourgeois. Today I tried making one out of a cigarette, some coffee, and four tiny stones. I fed it to Malraux, who puked. I am encouraged, but my journey is still long.
October 7
Today I agian modified my omelet recipe. While my previous attempts had expressed my own bitterness, they communicated only illness to the eater. In an attempt to reach the bourgeoisie, I taped two fried eggs over my eyes and walked the streets of Paris for an hour. I ran into Camus at the Select. He called me a “pathetic dork” and told me to “go home and wash my face.” Angered, I poured a bowl of bouillabaisse into his lap. He became enraged, and, seizing a straw wrapped in paper, tore off one end of the wrapper and blew through the straw. propelleing the wrapper into my eye. “Ow! You dick!” I cried. I leaped up, cursing and holding my eye, and fled.
October 10
I find myself trying ever more radical interpretations of traditional dishes, in an effort to somehow express the void I feel so acutely. Today I tried this recipe:
Tuna Casserole
Ingredients: 1 large casserole dish
Place the casserole dish in a cold oven. Place a chair facing the oven and sit in it forever. Think about how hungry you are. When night falls, do not turn on the light.
While a void is expressed in this recipe, I am struck by its inapplicability to the bourgeois lifestyle. How can the eater recognize that the food denied him is a tuna casserole and not some other dish? I am becoming more and more frustated.
October 12
My eye has become inflamed. I hate Camus.
October 25
I have been forced to abandon the project of producing an entire cookbook. Rather, I now seek a single recipe which will, by itself, embody the plight of man in a world ruled by an unfeeling God, as well as providing the eater with at least one ingredient from each of the four basic food groups. To this end, I purchased six hundred pounds of foodstuffs from the corner grocery and locked myself in the kitchen, refusing to admit anyone. After several weeks of work, I produced a recipe calling for two eggs, half a cup of flour, four tons of beef, and a leek. While this is a start, I am afraid I still have much work ahead.
November 15
I feel that I may be very close to a great breakthrough. I had been creating meal after meal, but none seemed to express the futility of existence any better than would ordering a pizza. I left the house this morning in a most depressed state, and wandered aimlessly through the streets. Suddenly, it was aif the heavens had opened. My brain was electrified with an influx of new ideas. “Juice, toast, milk…” I muttered aloud. I realized with a start that I was one ingredient away from creating the nutritious breakfast. Loathsome, true, but filled with existential authenticity. I rushed home to begin work anew.
November 18
Today I tried yet another variation: Juice, toast, milk and Chee-tos. Again, a dismal failure. I have tried everything. Juice, toast, milk and whiskey, juice, toast, milk and chicken fat, juice, toast, milk and someone else’s spit. Nothing helps. I am in agony. Juice, toast, milk, they race about my fevered brain like fire, like an unholy trinity of cruel denial. And the fourth ingredient! What could it be? It eludes me like the lost chord, the Holy Grail. I must see the completion of my task, but I have no more money to spend on food. Perhaps man is not meant to know.
November 21
Camus came into the restaurant today. He did not know I was in the kitchen, and before I sent out his meal I loogied in his soup. Sic semper tyrannis.
November 23
Ran into some opposition at the restaurant. Some of the patrons complained that my breakfast special (a page out of Remembrance of Things Past and a blowtorch with which to set it on fire) did not satisfy their hunger. As if their hunger was of any consequence! “But we’re starving,” they say. So what? They’re going to die eventually anyway. They make me want to puke. I have quit the job. It is stupid for Jean- Paul Sartre to sling hash. I have enough money to continue my work for a little while.
November 24
Last night I had a dream. In it, I am standing, alone, on a beach. A great storm is raging all about me. It begins to rain. Night falls. I am struck by how small and insignificant I am, how the entire race of Man is but a speck in the eye of God, and I am but a speck of humanity. Suddenly, a red Cadillac convertible pulls up beside me, In it are these two beautiful girls named Jojo and Wendy. I get in and the take me to their mansion in Hollywood and give me a pound of cocaine and make mad, passionate love to me for the rest of my life.
November 26
Today I made a Black Forest cake out of five pounds of cherries and a live beaver, challenging the very definition of the word “cake.” I was very pleased. Malraux said he admired it greatly, but could not stay for dessert. Still, I feel that this may be my most profound achievement yet, and have resolved to enter it in the Betty Crocker Bake-Off.
November 30
Today was the day of the Bake-Off. Alas, things did not go as I had hoped. During the judging, the beaver became agitated and bit Betty Crocker on the wrist. The beaver’s powerful jaws are capable of felling blue spruce in less than ten minutes and proved, needless to say, more than a match for the tender limbs of America’s favorite homemaker. I only got third place. Moreover, I am now the subject of a rather nasty lawsuit. December 1 I have been gaining twenty-five pounds a week for two months, and I am now experiencing light tides. It is stupid to be so fat. My pain and ultimate solitude are still as authentic as they were when I was thin, but seem to impress girls far less. From now on, I will live on cigarettes and black coffee.
Married women… the answer is here…
He didn’t like the stew,
I didn’t mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and smacked him…
Like his Mother used to do.
:roflhard:
:roflhard:
:roflhard: :roflhard:
THINGS YOU’D LOVE TO SAY OUT LOUD AT WORK:
-
I can see your point, but I still think you’re full of s***.
-
I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ll bet it’s hard to pronounce.
-
How about never? Is never good for you?
-
I see you’ve set aside this special time to humiliate yourself in public.
-
I’m really easy to get along with once you people learn to see it my way.
-
I’ll try being nicer if you’ll try being smarter.
-
I’m out of my mind, but feel free to leave a message.
-
I don’t work here. I’m a consultant.
-
It sounds like English, but I can’t understand a word you are saying.
-
Ahhh… I see the screw-up fairy has visited us again…
-
I like you! You remind me of myself when I was young and stupid.
-
You are validating my inherent mistrust of strangers.
-
I have plenty of talent and vision; I just don’t give a damn.
-
I’m already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.
-
I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you.
-
Thank you. We’re all refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view.
-
The fact that no one understands you doesn’t mean you’re an artist.
-
Any connection between your reality and mine is purely coincidental.
-
What am I? Flypaper for freaks!?
-
I’m not being rude. You’re just insignificant.
-
And your crybaby whiny-a**ed opinion would be…?
-
It’s a thankless job, but I’ve got a lot of Karma to burn off.
-
Do I look like a people person?
-
This isn’t an office. Its Hell with fluorescent lights.
-
I started out with nothing and I still have most of it.
-
Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.
-
If I throw a stick, will you leave?
-
Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.
-
Whatever kind of look you were looking for, you missed.
-
I’m trying to imagine you with a personality.
-
A cubicle is just a padded cell without a door.
-
Can I trade this job for what’s behind door # 1?
-
Too many freaks, not enough circuses.
-
Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?
-
Chaos, panic and disorder-my work is done.
-
How do I set a laser printer to stun?
-
I thought I wanted a career; turns out I just wanted a salary.
-
Oh I get it…humor…but different.
:roflhard:
As soon as you figure out how to set a laser printer to stun, fill me in… :twisted:
I 
Jodstr’s list! :roflhard:
:roflhard: :roflhard: :roflhard:
Very nice!
[b]Happy New Year!!!
As another year will shortly be a memory, my heartfelt appreciation goes out to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me forwards" over the past 12 months. Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed, and wealthy.[/b]
Extra thanks for the ones that I have to open 15 times to get to the message.
Special thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat crap in the glue on envelopes 'cause I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need to seal an envelope.
Also, I scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason. Because of your concern, I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.
I no longer drink Pepsi, or Dr Pepper, since the people who make these products are atheists who won’t put “Under God” on their cans.
I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.
I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.
I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.
I no longer go to shopping malls because someone might drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.
I no longer receive packages from, nor send packages by UPS, or FedEx, since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.
I no longer answer the phone, because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.
I no longer eat KFC, because their “chickens” are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.
I no longer have any sneakers – but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike.
I no longer have to buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus, since I now have their recipe.
I no longer worry about my soul, because at last count I have 363,214 angels looking out for me.
Thanks to you, I have learned that God only answers my prayers if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.
I no longer have any savings, because I gave it to a sick girl who is about to die in the hospital (for the 1,387,258th time)
I no longer have any money at all - but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special email program.
Yes, I want to thank you so much for looking out for me that I will now return the favor!
If you don’t send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 7 inutes, a large pigeon with a wicked case of diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM (EDT) this afternoon. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of mine’s next door neighbor’s ex-mother-in-law’s second husband’s cousin’s beautician.
Have a very HAPPY NEW YEAR!
:roflhard: :roflhard: :roflhard: